


The Coming of Winter

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Characters and relationships tags will be added as they appear in the fanfic, Episode: s07e01 Dragonstone, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Season/Series 07, Spoilers, Will eventually diverge from canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The cold winds are rising, and with it the dead.Starts at beginning of Season 7 of the TV show.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Beric Dondarrion & Thoros of Myr
Kudos: 1
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Arya I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I take no credit for the speech in the first scene of this chapter (A new scene is denoted by a dotted line). All credit for the speech goes to the writers of Season 7 Episode 1: Dragonstone.

“You’re wondering why I brought you all here. After all, we’ve just had a feast. Since when does old Walder give us two feasts in a single fortnight.” Arya said, wearing Walder’s face with his raspy voice, getting chuckles from the gathered Freys. “Well it’s no good being lord of the Riverlands if you can’t celebrate with your family, that’s what I say!”. The Freys cheered at this, and Arya motioned for the servant girls to distribute the wine. _A sweet poison for House Frey._ “I’ve gathered every Frey who means a damn thing, so I can tell you my plans, for this great house, now that winter has come.” The Freys listened on, oblivious to their impending demise. “But first, a toast! No more of that Dornish horse-piss, this is the finest Arbor gold. Proper wine, for proper heroes!” Arya said, bringing loud cheers from the Frey rabble. “Stand together!” Arya said, bringing her goblet to her lips.

“Stand together!” chorused the Freys, drinking their toasts.

But Arya did not drink. “Not you. I’m not wasting good wine on a woman.”, Arya said to Walder’s wife, who had raised her goblet to the toast. _Winter has no quarrel with you, Lady Frey._ “Maybe I’m not the most pleasant man, I’ll admit it, but I’m proud of you lot. The men who helped me slaughter the Starks at the Red Wedding.” Cheering filled the hall at this remark, Freys patting each other on their backs. _Stupid sheep._ “Yes! Yes! Cheer. Brave men, all of you. Butchered a woman, pregnant with her babe. Cut the throat, of a mother of five.” The atmosphere was shifting in the hall, to one of unease at these backhanded compliments. “Slaughtered your guests after inviting them into your home. You didn’t slaughter every one of the Starks.”. Arya looked on as the Freys begun to choke, working to suppress a smile. “That was your mistake. You should have ripped them all out, root and stem.” Arya said, with her fury at the Freys beginning to creep into her voice, Walder’s voice. The Freys were collapsing all throughout the hall, blood pouring from there mouths. _Justice for the Starks. Justice for my family._ “Leave one wolf alive, and the sheep are never safe.” The Freys continued to clatter to the floor, their garbled death cries audible throughout the hall, calling out the vengeance of House Stark, until finally silence fell, with only the servant girls and Lady Frey left watching on, stunned. Arya removed Walder’s face and turned to the petrified Lady Frey, whose eyes were wide with a memory she would never forget.

“When people ask you what happened here, tell them the North remembers. Tell them winter came, for House Frey.” Arya said, with Lady Frey motionless but with comprehending in her eyes. Arya turned and walked down the hall, past the bodies of the Freys, finally in their place, bowed down in death to the Starks. _For my mother. For Robb. For his wife and child._

_\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Snow was beginning to fall as Arya exited the Twins, and a cold wind bit at any exposed flesh. Darkness had fallen as Arya set off south atop a stolen horse, not that the Freys needed it now. The trees were leafless in the moonlight, having fallen to blanket the road in a crunchy covering. Arya’s thoughts strayed to King’s Landing, the scene of her fathers death. _I couldn’t do anything to help father then, I was just a little girl who dreamed of swordplay. Now I can get my revenge, my houses revenge, for the crime committed that day. Father was honourable, father was good, father was honest. And the Lannisters killed him._ The cold wind blew, causing a strand of hair to tickle Arya’s face. _Joffrey was stolen from me, but not Ser Ilyn, who betrayed Ice by using it on father. And not Cersei._ Quiet anger coursed through Arya at the thought of the Queen, and Arya tightened her grip on the reins. _I will have my vengeance on Cersei, on all the Lannisters for their crimes against my house. I will see Cersei die by my hand._ As Arya’s thoughts dwelled on the Lannisters, a face from her past popped into her mind.

_Tywin. What would Lord Lannister have thought of my extermination of House Frey?_

_“Family is all there is, it is the legacy you leave behind. The House that will stop at nothing to protect itself and secure its legacy is the House that survives.”_

A Snowflake fell on Arya’s cheek, melting against her warm skin.

_Yes, Tywin would understand, he did it himself with the Reynes of Castamere. House Frey can join the Reynes, hurting the wolf was as stupid as hurting the lion. But I won’t hurt the lion. I will kill the lion, as I killed the Freys. Winter will come for House Lannister._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short introductary chapter, very much inspired by the opening of Season 7 of the TV show.


	2. Sandor I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and the Brotherhood in the Riverlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I take no credit for any of the spoken words (denoted by speech marks "") in the final two scenes (denoted by a dotted line). Credit for the spoken words goes to the writers of Season 7 Episode 1: Dragonstone.

Snow was falling in the Riverlands, and the weak winter sun struggled to break through the clouds and trees, leaving the road dim-lit and eerie as the Brotherhood without Banners headed north. Sandor found them a miserable bunch, Thoros and Beric the worst of them with their devotion of the Lord of Light. They were both quiet for now, riding either side beside him with the rest of their Brotherhood entourage trailing behind, likely all freezing to death. _Such a great Lord, to allow his herd to freeze and die in the dark. Still, far better than burning. Yet Beric came back, after I killed him, he was gone for sure. Thoros brought him back with the Lord of Lights power, and that’s not even the only time the Lord brought back Beric fucking Dondarrion. But why… the Lord definitely has power._ Sandor shuffled in his seat, and his horse whinnied nervously, as if sensing Sandor’s mood.

“Scared your horse Clegane? Not surprising what with it having you on it’s back. Hound’s scare horses.” Thoros said.

“Shut it Thoros, I wouldn’t hurt a fucking horse. It’s probably scared of you and that stupid top knot.” Sandor said, causing Thoros and Beric to chuckle.

“He’s got a point, Thoros.” Beric added smiling.

“What, you too now Beric,” Thoros said, “just what I need, you two picking on me. I might care too if it were anyone else.”

Beric kept smiling, but Sandor just shrugged his shoulders, and silence came over the group again, replaced by the whispering wind.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A short while later and the group were still trudging northwards down the road, with not another person in sight. _Winter has frozen this land, and it seems it’s people have gone with it._ A wolf howled far in the distance, and was answered by another distant call. _At least the wolves aren’t alone. Winter is the time of wolves, the Starks always knew it, not that they’re left to know it._ He thought of Sansa and her red hair and kind heart, and wondered if she still lingered in King’s Landing. _Probably not, Joffrey likely broke her._ He felt an unexpected pang of sadness at the thought, and uncomfortably turned his thoughts to her sister, Arya. _She was fierce of spirit and couldn’t be tamed, and I liked her for it. I hope she’s still alive._ The problem with Arya was that although she was fierce and played at being a knight, she was also kind like Sansa, and being kind got you killed. _I hope that Brienne found her, she can fight like a man, and she’s damn near as strong as my brother. She could protect Arya._

“Beric,” Sandor called, “have you ever met a Brienne of Tarth?”

“No, I can’t say I have. But I have heard of her, wasn’t she meant to have killed King Renly?” Beric said.

“So they say.” Sandor said, shoulders sagging.

“Why do you ask Clegane?”

“It’s not important.”

“You know, I heard rumours that it was Loras Tyrell that murdered King Renly.” Thoros said.

“Loras!” Beric said incredulous. “Loras Tyrell! The whole court in King’s Landing knew of Renly and Loras’ secret jousts. He would never have killed Renly.”

“I’m not saying I believe it Beric. It’s just an amusing rumour.” Thoros said, throwing up his hands.

“One final stab in the back from Loras to Renly.” Sandor said, causing Beric and Thoros to laugh.

“You’re right Beric, it probably was Lady Brienne who did it. I hear she was in the tent at the time.” Thoros said.

Sandor turned to Thoros in his saddle and looked him in the eyes. “It wasn’t Brienne of fucking Tarth, it’s not her style.”

“You’ve met her Clegane?” Beric asked, a curious look in his remaining eye.

“Aye, we’ve met.” Sandor stared into the wintry distance, thoughts of the warrior maid in his mind.

“I’ve heard a rumour about Brienne, other than she killed Renly.” Thoros said. “I’ve heard she’s responsible for the death of King Stannis Baratheon.”

“Sounds like she could give Jaime Lannister a run for his coin at kingslaying. Renly, Stannis.” Sandor paused. “They’ll be saying she killed Joffrey next.” Sandor said, ducking beneath a low hanging branch.

“With poison straight from her teats.” Thoros joked.

“Perhaps she and Ser Jaime should marry,” Beric said with mischief showing in his eye, “then all kings would quake when they had a child.”

“Aye,” Thoros chuckled, “the cubs of the kingslayers.”

“Shut it!” Sandor cut in, raising his hand to halt the group and reigning in his horse. “A man up ahead, and he looks armoured.”

A man was walking down the road towards them, wearing Lannister armour, his crunching footsteps clearly audible now their horses had stopped. _A fucking Lannister._

“Halt!” Thoros called out to the man, who immediately stopped in his tracks and held up his arms.

“Prepare yourselves men,” Beric said, loosening his sword in it’s scabbard “were there’s one Lannister soldier you can be sure more will follow.” Sounds of steel being drawn came from behind Sandor as he readied his axe.

“What business have you out here?” Thoros called, hand on his sword.

“Nothing sirs,” said the man quivering, “I was just travelling south.”

As the Brotherhood approached the man, Sandor could see his face, sunken and frail.

“You’re no Lannister, are you. Were’d you get that armour?” Sandor asked.

“I f-found it, sirs, I swear.” The man said, clearly petrified, still holding his hands shaking above his head. “There was three dead L-L-Lannisters, I found them not f-far north. I thought the armour would p-p-protect me from b-brigands.”

“Great protection that armour gave you, didn’t it. Dumb cunt.” Sandor said.

“P-P-Please d-don’t hurt me.” The man begged, falling to his knees now, down in the snow. “Mercy, mercy!” The man broke down into sobs, looking at his knees.

“We are not brigands Clegane,” Beric said, hopping off his horse to approach the man. “You need not worry, we are the Brotherhood without Banners, protectors of the common folk.”

“Mercy, mercy.”

Thoros and Sandor approached on foot also. Up close the stench of the man hit, causing Sandor to recoil. Sandor thought he was used to bad smells, some in the Brotherhood stunk like Flea Bottom. This man, however, smelt like he had never bathed in his life.

“Calm down, we won’t hurt you.” Thoros said gently, crouching before the man. “What is your name.”

“W-Willem, sir, Willem.”

“Why don’t you camp with us tonight Willem, we will feed you and hear your story.” Thoros said.

“S-Sure you won’t hurt me? How c-can I trust you?”

“Seven hells!” Sandor exclaimed, “If we wanted to fucking hurt you, we’d cut you down right here! But as you can’t afford to feed or bathe yourself, why the bloody hell would we kill you?”

“Calm, Clegane. Willem here has clearly been through a lot. The Brotherhood is friends with the common folk, we _will_ help Willem.” Beric proclaimed, lowering his hand to help him up.

Willem hesitated for a moment, his breathing calmed, and he clasped Beric’s hand and got up.

“I’ve heard of the Brotherhood, sirs, but I couldn’t just trust yous straight away.” Willem said, head looking particularly small hidden in the helmet.

“You’re safe now.” Beric said, smiling. “But Clegane’s right, that armour just draws attention to yourself. A lone Lannister will tempt plenty of people to take revenge. Come men, let us make camp.” Beric called, turning to the rest of the Brotherhood, arms held wide as if to hug them all.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fire crackled in the clearing as the Brotherhood gathered round it for warmth, with the smell of cooking rabbit whetting appetites. The sounds of jovial conversation drifted over to Sandor, who sat apart from the rest of the group, further from the flames. Willem was with the Brotherhood, completely at ease now, sitting back relaxed in conversation with Thoros and Beric. He had removed the Lannister armour and given it to the Brotherhood, who had cloaked him in winter furs in payment. _Bet he’s delighted for the meal._ Sandor felt happy for the man, taking himself by surprise. _I’m getting soft. Fuck._ He sat sharpening his axe, huddled in his cloak against the cold, when his name caught his attention in Willem’s conversation.

“-the Hound? Only I’ve heard tales, bad tales.”

“Yes. But he’s different now.” Thoros said, looking up at Sandor, past the flames.

“But how do you trust him? I’ve heard terrible things, they said he killed innocents, betrayed the King, murdered babes, raped Sansa Stark-”

That touched a nerve in Sandor, and he rose holding his axe. “Don’t fucking talk about what you don’t know you stupid lowborn cunt!” Sandor spat. Willem clearly didn’t know he had been listening, he jumped out of his skin as soon as he spoke, like a startled deer.

“Clegane!” Beric didn’t shout, but his words carried threat and authority. He remained seated but looked him straight in the eyes. “He doesn’t know what he’s on about, and he’s not completely wrong, you have committed many crimes in your life.”

“I’m sorry to offend you, sir.” Willem squeaked. Sandor just stared down at him, hands clenched on the axe.

“Sit down Clegane.” Thoros said, putting a hand on his sword.

When he didn’t move, Beric grabbed a cooked rabbit from the fire and threw it at him, forcing him to catch the rabbit, the heat noticeable even through his gloves. He looked over at Beric, then sat down with a thump. _Sansa. Beautiful, kind Sansa._ Sorrow filled him and he fought back a tear. _I couldn’t save her. I offered her help, and she was too scared of me to come, to flee King’s Landing and the bloody Lannisters. Sansa..._ A little guilt entered his mind now, at his outburst at Willem, his anger at the world. _If only I wasn’t so fucking angry, maybe Sansa would have come with me._ Thoughts of flames swam into his mind, of his brother holding his face into the flames. _Ser Gregor. My_ loving _brother. It’s his fucking fault that I’m so fucking angry._ He looked angrily at the rabbit in his hands, and tore into it with his jaws.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fire crackled lower and the conversation was quieter now as tiredness crept over the Brotherhood. Sandor felt the cold chilling his bones and he pulled his cloak tighter around himself, looking towards the flames, thinking of the warmth. _I don’t want to sit with that lot, not tonight._ He contented himself with seeing through the night whilst being cold, he could brave the cold. Then a cutting wind howled through the clearing, and Sandor felt his ears going numb. _Fuck it._ He got up, a little stiff, and walked over to the gathered Brotherhood to get near the fire, to feel it’s precious warmth.

“Feeling cold Clegane?” Thoros asked, looking away from the flames as Sandor sat down next to him.

“No, I just longed for your company.” Sandor deadpanned, grabbing a nearby branch and throwing it on the flames.

“Maybe you saw the Lord in the flames, calling to you.” Thoros said.

“I want nothing to do with your bloody Lord of Light,” Sandor said, “if he’s dumb enough to have you as a priest then he’s no right to call himself ‘Lord’.”

Thoros only smiled at that statement. “The Lord’s interested in you Clegane. He let you defeat Beric in trial by combat, he has plans for the Hound.”

Sandor shifted uneasily, and looked over to Beric, sitting close by in conversation with Willem.

“You see, Beric, sir, I was travelling with my daughter through the Riverlands, she was only a young woman. And one day, we was travelling not far from the Trident when a group of Lannisters came upon us.” Willem’s voice quietened at this point. “One of them was so tall he made me think the giants were back.” A thrill of understanding went through Sandor at those words, and he listened intently. He could tell Thoros was doing the same, he had looked away from the flames to stare at the floor. “I realised it must be the one who they calls the Mountain that Rides, and I was scared. I told my daughter to run and-” Willem’s voice broke at that point, and he took a moment to compose himself. Beric put a hand on Willem’s back in comfort. “She didn’t get away. The Mountain laughed as he raped her, and then all his men did the same, and they made me watch. Then the Mountain cut off her head, and, and, then he threw it to me and said I could keep it as a gift.” Willem fell silent at that, and Beric kept his hand on his back.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Sandor said. “She didn’t deserve that. My brother’s a bastard, he deserves the worst death going.”

Willem looked up at Sandor, tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“I’ll kill him myself if he’s still alive, and he can rot in the seven hells.” Sandor said. “I promise you Willem, for your daughter and everyone else he’s tormented.”

“I thinks he’s still alive.” Willem said, looking straight at Sandor. “I talked with a young man shortly ago at the Inn at the Crossroads. He talked of rumours of Cersei and her having a giant Kingsguard back from the dead. A _giant_ Kingsguard, brought back after fighting the Prince Martell.”

Sandor didn’t like the thought of his brother being brought back one bit if it was true. He’d heard his brother had been felled fighting in a trial by combat, and he’d wondered if he was dead. He looked at Beric, brought back how many times, and shivered.

“You don’t know this information to be true, wild rumours are found all over Westeros.” Beric said, concern showing round his eye.

“I don’t know it to be true, but I believes it.” Willem said. “He didn’t seem like one who’d die easy.”

Thoros cleared his throat and looked at Willem. “Who told you this story?”

“He called himself Hot Pie. We talked as I ate, he said he cooked there. You see, I spent the rest of my coin in that place, it was the last proper meal I had. Until today.”

“Hot Pie.” Thoros said, his eyes glazing over. “Remember him Beric?”

“I don’t.” Beric replied.

“Actually, now that I think of it you never met him Beric. We left him at the inn after we stopped there with the Lady Arya.” Thoros turned to Sandor. “And we captured you, the ugliest prize we ever caught.”

“Well, you could hardly catch yourself, ugly cunt.” Sandor said, memories of the moment coming back to him. “Was Hot Pie the dumpy one, who always looked vacant upstairs?”

“That’s him.” Thoros said, smiling warmly.

“He cooks damn well.” Willem said. “That food was the best meal I’d had in a long long time.”

“Did he tell you any other news, Willem?” Beric asked. “The Brotherhood is grateful for any information you provide.”

A wolf howled in the distance, a deep howl that carried on the wind, making all of them look up and nearby birds scatter from the trees. When all remained quiet and still Willem answered.

“He told me of news from the North, from Winterfell. The Bolton’s were defeated in battle and Winterfell was taken back.”

“Taken back?” Beric asked, and Willem grinned at the juicy gossip he had to tell.

“Taken back by the Starks, sirs. Jon Snow retook Winterfell and the Lady Sansa was with him.”

_Sansa. She’s alive, at Winterfell. Safe._ Sandor felt shock at the news, stunned, unable to form a response as cold winds blew around him.

“They’re calling it the Battle of the Bastards.” Willem said. “Jon Snow and Ramsay Snow.”

“Bloody hell.” Thoros said, voicing what Sandor couldn’t.

“Arya mentioned Jon was with the Night’s Watch to me.” Beric said, staring intently into the flames, as if trying to see something.

“Clearly not any more.” Thoros replied.

_Could it be true?_ Nerves started to coil in Sandor’s gut, and he gripped his hands into fists.

“Are you sure it’s true, what Hot Pie said?” Sandor asked. He had to be certain.

“As certain as can be. Hot Pie said there had been many people who had come south telling the tale.”

Sandor’s gut released most of the tension, and he flexed his hands, thinking of Sansa.

“I’ve got a question for you if I may, Willem,” Thoros said, “the dead Lannisters you found, why were they dead?”

“I don’t quite knows sirs, but they were in a bad way. They were rotting, and stank like nothing else. Parts of them was missing, it looked like they’d been torn off. And one of them looked like part of their face had been eaten.” Willem finished, going pale at the memory.

“Sounds like wolves to me.” Beric said, looking into the trees at the edge of the clearing. “They’re brave round these parts, they’ve killed some of the Brotherhood before.”

Quiet fell between them at that, replaced by the crackling of the flames. Sandor’s mind lingered on thoughts of Winterfell, a place he’d visited once before with Robert Baratheon. He still couldn’t quite believe what was said, that Sansa Stark had somehow safely made it to Winterfell. It just didn’t fit the little bird he knew at King’s Landing.

“Do you believe what he said Thoros?” Sandor asked quietly. “About Winterfell?”

Thoros paused for a long moment, and took a swig from his flask. “Yes, I do Clegane. Strange as the story sounded, I trust Willem, and I trust Hot Pie.” He looked at Sandor, straight into his eyes, as if trying to read him. “If you’re so desperate for the truth Clegane, look into the flames. Perhaps the Lord will enlighten you.”

Sandor paused for a moment, the flames tempting him in the periphery. _Could I really see something in the flames?_ He turned and looked straight into the flames, and recoiled, immediately thinking of Gregor holding him in the flames. _Steel yourself._ He looked back into the flames, looking for a hint of Winterfell, of Sansa. He stared for a long while, looking… _This is stupid. What am I doing, thinking a Lord of Light will help me? They’re just flames._ Still he looked, hoping for something to reveal itself, but the flames just flickered on, tormenting him with nothing. _Fucks sake._

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The sun peeked over the horizon as the Brotherhood broke their fast with a basic breakfast. Mercifully, the snow had stopped overnight, and a little more light and warmth promised to be present for the day. Birds could be heard cawing around the clearing as Beric got to his feet.

“Come brothers, it’s time we move north again.” Beric turned to Willem who sat a little way away. “You may join us if you wish, Willem.”

Willem shuffled nervously, then stood up, wringing his hands. “I’m no fighter, I’ve never used a sword.”

“The Brotherhood needs more than fighters:” Beric said, then began pointing at Brotherhood members, “he’s a smith, those two hunt, he mainly scouts ahead. There’s a place for you Willem, you only need to take it to never be alone again. The cold winds are rising in the North, and a great evil threatens the world again. You can help us defeat it Willem.”

Willem paused at this speech, looking around the members of the Brotherhood. He paused on Thoros.

“There’s honour in serving the Brotherhood.” Thoros added.

Willem continued to wring his hands, then his face set. “I’m sorry sirs, but I can’t come with yous. It sounds brave and all what you is doing, but I just want to get south to King’s Landing, to safety and food.”

“Fair enough.” Thoros said, and he walked over to Willem and clasped his hand. “Safe travels.”

“We can spare you a little food,” Beric said, going over to their stores and grabbing a small pack, “for the journey south.” He went over and handed it to Willem, who’s eyes welled with tears.

“Thank you.” Willem whispered.

Willem set off south down the road as the Brotherhood prepared to head off north, mounting their horses. Sandor looked back at Willem, walking merrily off, and sighed.

“He’s going to die.” Sandor said.

“He may surprise us yet,” Beric said, “all he needs to do is get to King’s Landing to have a chance.”

“You may as well ask him to swim the fucking Trident with that armour back on. He’ll die.”

“You’re probably right,” Thoros said, mounting up beside him, “but we don’t all want to be a miserable old cunt like you.”

Sandor wasn’t listening, instead he was focused on a rider approaching from the south. They were wrapped in a winter cloak, their face hidden within a hood.

“Rider coming.” Thoros said, turning his horse to face the rider.

“Who goes there?” Beric called, also turning his horse.

The rider approached, but stopped at a fair distance, seeming wary of getting close. _They don’t trust us. Smart._ He looked at the Brotherhood, at Thoros and Beric, a group of ugly men. _Fuck. We look like any old group of rapers._

“Just a traveller, not looking for company.” Came the reply. It was a female voice, like nectar to the ears compared to the usual gruff voices of the Brotherhood. Looking closer, into the shadows of the hood, Sandor could tell it was a beauty. He suspected her shape would be lovely under the winter cloak.

“We are the Brotherhood without Banners.” Beric called. “We will do no harm. We are also travelling north, we offer you safe company on our travels together.”

“As I said, I’m not looking for company.” The rider kept their distance, reins of the horse in hand to make a quick escape if necessary.

“Look lady,” Sandor said, “if you don’t come with us you’ll probably be raped by a bunch of horny bastards.”

“I prefer the unknown danger to the known danger.” The woman said, warily eyeing the Brotherhood.

Sandor grunted and turned his horse, and rode off northwards, ahead of the Brotherhood. They could follow when they were ready, Sandor had had enough of trying to help the woman. _She doesn’t want to be helped, and who can blame her? Most would run half a mile at the sight of our sorry lot._

Sandor heard Thoros calling “Safe travels!” in the distance, and looked back to see the Brotherhood trailing behind him, leaving the woman behind.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The snows had not held off for long, by afternoon they had returned with a wintry vengeance, blowing up a snowstorm. The Brotherhood had left the woodland, and now traversed over frozen farmland. Sandor shivered as a small farmstead appeared before them, one Sandor recognised.

“This seems like a good place to spend the night.” Beric said, eyeing the farmstead.

“These people don’t want us here.” Sandor said. _Not after I robbed them with Arya._

“Seems deserted to me. No livestock, no smoke coming from the chimney.” Beric said, grimacing in the cold, then heading down towards the farmstead.

_He’s right. They’re gone._ Sandor paused, his eyes lingering on the building. He followed the Brotherhood, down to the farmstead, and inside, out of the snowstorm.

The building looked like it hadn’t been lived in for a while and was cold, unable to keep winter at bay. _So much for escaping the cold._ Then Sandor’s eyes found the corner of the room, and the long dead bodies holding each other in their arms. _Fuck._ Sandor knew those bodies, even in their skeletal forms he knew it to be the father and daughter he’d robbed. _Why couldn’t they have lived? Was it my fault?_

Beric entered behind him, and followed Sandor’s eyes to the corpses.

“How do you think it ended for them?” Beric asked.

“Was death.” Sandor said, looking at the frail skeletons.

“Girl died in her father’s arms, both of them covered in blood with a knife at their feet. I’d say they were starving, and rather than let his little girl suffer, he ended it for both of them.” Beric said, with the hollow sadness of having seen suffering many times before.

“Doesn’t matter now.” Sandor said, turning away from the sad reminder of his crimes.

“No, doesn’t matter now.”

Sandor sat at the table and tore into a bit of jerky, it’s lack of flavour disappointing, as Beric joined him.

“I’ve known you a long time Dondarrion.” Sandor said.

“Aye. I think the first time we met, was at that tournament-” Beric said.

“And I always thought you were dull as dirt.” Beric laughed at that, as did Thoros who was starting a fire.

“You’re not bad,” Sandor continued, “I don’t hate you, nor do I like you, but you’re not bad.” The jerky was tough like leather, but Sandor kept eating it.

“Thank you Clegane, that warms the heart.” Beric said, smiling at the half compliment.

“And there’s nothing special about you.”

“You’re right about that.”

“So why does the Lord of Light keep bringing you back?” Sandor asked, as warmth from the lit fire washed over him. “I’ve met better men than you, and they’ve been hanged from crossbeams, or beheaded, or just shat themselves to death in a field somewhere.” Sandor paused. “None of them came back, so why you?” He looked at Beric, wanting a proper answer, but not expecting one.

“You think I don’t ask myself that, every hour of every day.” Beric said.

_No fucking answer. What a surprise._

“Why am I here,” Beric continued, glancing around the room “what am I supposed to do? What does the Lord see in me?”

“And?” Sandor asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t understand our Lord.”

“Your Lord.”

“I don’t know what he wants from me. I only know that-” Beric hesitated, “-he wants me alive.”

“If he’s so all powerful why doesn’t he just tell you what the fuck he wants?” Sandor asked, frustration building.

“Clegane.” Thoros cut in, from by the flames. “Come over here. Don’t worry, the fire won’t bite. I want to show you something.”

_I don’t want to stare into the fucking flames again._

“It’s my fucking luck I end up with a band of fire worshippers.” Sandor said.

“Aye. Almost seems like divine justice.” Beric said.

“There’s no divine justice you dumb cunt, if there was you’d be dead. And that girl would be alive.” Sandor said, nodding to the hugging corpses and getting up to approach the flames.

“What do you want?” Sandor asked.

“Look into the flames.” Thoros said, crouched down by the flames in his worship, lit by its red glow.

“I don’t want to look in the damn flames.”

“You saw me bring him back from the dead after you cut him down.” Thoros nodded at Beric. “Don’t you want to know what gave me the power?” Thoros left the question hanging.

“I keep asking, and no one wants to tell me.” Sandor said, glancing at Beric.

“We can’t tell you.” Thoros said, looking into the flames. “Only the fire can tell you.”

_This is stupid, its already failed you._ Sandor begrudgingly approached the flames, and looked into their fiery depths.

“What do you see?” Thoros asked.

“Logs burning.” _Nothing, fucking nothing._

“Keep looking. What do you see?”

The flames kept flickering before Sandor, and then he _saw_. “Ice. A wall of ice.” He couldn’t believe his eyes. “The Wall.” _What is this power?_

“What else?” Thoros asked, anticipation entering his voice.

“It’s where the Wall meets the sea. There’s a castle there.” The flames leapt up at that, causing Sandor to recoil momentarily. _I don’t understand these visions, how is this possible?_ “There’s a mountain, looks like an arrowhead.” Sandor continued staring into the flames, transfixed, when a terrifying sight hit. “The dead are marching past.” He’d never believed about the dead until now, but he knew this was real. “Thousands of them.” _Fuck, fuck, seven hells!_

“Do you believe me now Clegane? Do you believe we’re here for a reason?” Beric asked.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Sandor’s grave-digging was the only noise other than the howling frigid winds, as he dug for the family. It was a shallow grave, but the ground was frozen and it was taking all his might to dig. He’d brought their corpses outside whilst the rest of the Brotherhood slept, wrapping them in simple blankets, to give them the small dignity of a burial.

As he dug, he couldn’t help feeling a little unnerved by the winds, now that he was aware of the threat to the north, of the dead. He was still reeling from the visions, wanting them to not be true. _But I’m no fucking fool. What I saw was true, there’s no point denying it._ He thought of his visions of the dead pouring past, like a sea of corpses. _We’re fucked._

As he finished digging he heard footsteps approaching nearby, Thoros.

“What the hell are you doing Clegane?”

“Burying the dead.” Sandor walked over to the corpses, and gently picked up the girl. She felt so light in his arms, and he placed her carefully in the grave, already starting to fill with snow.

“You knew these people.” Thoros said, watching the burial.

“Not really.” Sandor replied, it had only been one day. _But I feel like I owe them._

Sandor picked up the father, and placed him in the grave with his daughter to rest. He began shovelling dirt to fill the grave, a dull sadness in his bones. Thoros came over, and helped him to fill the grave, the two united in the effort. _Brotherhood._

The grave filled and Sandor had the inspiration to give the final words of the Faith of the Seven.

“We ask the Father to judge us with mercy. We ask the mother to…” The words escaped Sandor, and he couldn’t find them in his memory. _I never had faith._ “Fuck it, I don’t remember the rest.” He sighed, Thoros watching on patiently. “I’m sorry you’re dead. You deserve better. Both of you.” At that he left the grave, frustrated by the fates of the family. _I didn’t help them in life. I should have, but I’m a fucker._ Why couldn’t he protect anyone? _I can be better than this, the Brotherhood have it right, north is the problem, with the dead. I’ll help fight the dead fuckers, for that family and everyone else._


End file.
